i'm not suicidal, but
         if a truck was about to hit me
         i wouldn't scream
i don't have a death wish, but
         if i was stuck underwater
         i wouldn't struggle
i don't want to die, but
         if someone had a gun barrel at my head
         i wouldn't beg to live
                          i'd smile

An architects influence, extends only as far
As his lifetime
Although sculpted buildings may last well beyond
A single life
They are but toys for the times
Repurposed and retooled until
It carries nothing but shadows of it's origin
What should have been a schoolhouse
Could soon become a prison
What should have been a church
Would soon become a business
And in a backwards and cruel way
There is an odd sort of beauty in this
Because life is just a series of
Would have been, should have been, and could have been
That didn't.

You know, if I had a penny for every poem I have read with the theme of
"You don't know what you have until it's gone"
I would be a rich man
It's a shame that it took me seventeen years and a handful of special people
To realize that sometimes clichés are correct

I am not sure if you are aware
But each time you inhale
It is called an inspiration
And each time you exhale
It is called an expiration
So here I sit
Echoing a process that has been perfected throughout the millennia
Except I guess perfected would be a strong word
Because we don't have it right just yet

You were someone who inspired me
To become someone who I could be proud of
Someone whose own stories set my blood on fire
And filled me with hope that I could take the raw elements
Of myself and forge them into something great
Because that is exactly what you did

Just a milkman's son
Who ended up becoming the smartest man I know
Who taught thousands of students
Both privileged and poor
And couldn't tell the difference between the two
Who inspired two generations of people
To learn
To love
To laugh
Whose little gestures meant the world
To everyone who had the fortune to inhabit yours

Your five sons went on to become
Doctors and lawyers
Businessmen and police officers
Even if one wanted to be a clown
You married a beautiful woman
Who walked with love in her heart
And kindness kneaded into her hands
Your grandchildren, while there are a lot of us
Each owe you for the knowledge and kindness you instilled in us
All this from a milkman's son

This poem isn't goodbye
Because each time I draw inspiration from the atmosphere around me
I am thinking of you and I hold that **** breath for as long as I can
Just waiting for inspiration to hit me
I squeeze my eyes closed and hope against hope that everything is going to be okay
Because I am too  scared to let that inspiration go, I am not ready to expire

So grandpa,
Please
For me
Take that breath.

Why do I feel like this,
like i've lost all my bliss.
To tired to talk,
and just wanting to walk.
Wanting to walk all the way down,
down to the ground, where no one can see ;
all of this pain inside of me.
I know I should feel more alive,
And that this society is so easy to survive,
but I'm not able to fake something that is not there,
to fake that everyone loves you with care.
People say to let yourself be who you want to be,
but if there are friends holding you back,you aren't able to see..
The chances you miss out on,
and the regrets you make.
Are just things to put you down, and feel like you're about to break.
Don't let pain blur your sight,
while you take this journey of a wild flight.
-te

my body has shut down
    i move and function
                    but my brain is nothing
         mush with no substance
   i can't hold together
                        the glue isn't strong enough
i'm not strong enough
         without you
                           you're the filling
   the once missing pieces
                      now you're gone
                              and i'm falling apart again
             please
i'll pick up your pieces
     if you put me together again